He shifted his legs, careful not to step on the vegetation. He smiled, looking over the rooftop. It was the first time he had parked himself there, and only just noticed that, like every other rooftop in Chinatown, it had been turned into a vegetable garden. In an economy ravaged by isolation, cash was only worthwhile to buy merchandise from major corporations. However, supplies like food, exported from the outside world, would eat up whatever cash was available within a few months, if not weeks. So, the people of Chinatown had developed enough makeshift farmland to be as self-sufficient as possible. No wonder Shen Lo had balked at him using an entire top floor. He probably thought Kevin would cut off access to the rooftop farm.
Kevin reached for his book. He would listen for the next poor unfortunate pricks that tried messing with his city. He would kill anyone who even thought about committing violence within sight of his city. And he had a hundred rounds of ammunition to prove his point.
He had barely read a page when another scream went up. He sighed. Though maybe, tomorrow night, I bring two hundred...I wonder what else might go wrong?
*
The Ground Zero was named for the fact that the foundation of the building had been in a crater from an unexploded bomb. The 'Zero was one part dance hall (in the basement), one part bar (ground floor), one part computer hacking paradise, one part living quarters, and one part information center (the whole building).
The Ground Zero was a gathering point for various informers, private detectives, Drug Brokers and dealers, gypsies, tramps and thieves, with members of any of the aforementioned selling what they knew to whomever was willing to give them the best price for it.
In the back room on the ground floor was a petite woman with dark golden blonde hair and lovely blue-green eyes that were almond enough to be exotic, almost Eurasian. Her name was Jana Hollyfeld, but everyone had called her Lotus (she had programmed her first computer when she was four). Lotus had a slightly upturned button nose, and was perfectly proportioned for her size. Had she been taller, she would have been a model.
Lotus preferred being a hacker. With her sister and brother, triplets #1 and #3, they had set up the Ground Zero, and she was its chief hacker. Though there were days she thought she was the only hacker—her brother Mac and sister Mickie were almost always running the bar. They were the most outgoing, the most sociable, and their daily arguments were a constant floor show for the customers. So, Lotus did most of the research the customers paid for. But since she had an IQ around 287, all of her projects took her a fraction of the time it would take her brother or sister—they didn't ask, she didn't tell. It left her with a lot of free time.
So, now, she was looking at a rash of shootings around Chinatown. Lotus furrowed her cute little brow at the data before her. She knew who the shooter was, but then again, everyone else should have figured it out as well—it wasn't like Exile Kevin Anderson was keeping himself a secret.
One term she had heard floating around was “Reign of Terror.” The pattern was random, and anyone creating mischief within sight of Chinatown after dark was shot. No one even knew where the shots came from.
Lotus knew. She only had to find the one building that was in sight of all the muggers and gang members shot on a given night. And the pattern was really random. Not exactly out of a computerized randomizer, but close. How'd he do that?
*
Kevin looked at his map of Chinatown on the wall. He readied his dart and let fly.
*
Rumors had been circulating about Kevin Anderson. The man certainly knew how to put on a show. But just who the hell was he, and what was he doing, running around shooting people without telling the Triplets who he was, so they had something to tell people who asked?
That was Mac's point of view, anyway.
The crime rate in Chinatown had always been low; the same with Little Hiroshima next door. Now, the man had only been there about a week, and he was dropping the rates of violent incidents by half already. And the strange thing was that all of the bodies kept disappearing, despite the victims confirming that there was a man out there sniping from unknown locations.
*
Another body hit the floor, and Kevin chambered another round, looking for more prey. The victim had already run off, and so had one attacker who had dodged down an alley. Shortly thereafter, the shadows started to move, and then came alive, swarming the bodies. Moments later, the dead were taken away by the Children of Thanatos.
*
There was, though, one incident that had confused Lotus. There was an old church off of the main road going through Nob Hill, the church of St. Peter-St. Paul. It had been abandoned by the church authorities—like every other church in town—and there had been some sort of...incident.
*
Kevin didn't know what he would get when he headed to Church the first Sunday he was in San Francisco, and he didn't want to think about it until he got to the nearest church for mass.
Down the road, within walking distance, was the large, square-shaped, marble visage of St. Peter's-St. Paul's. It had, at one point, been a pure white church, immaculate and unyielding. Set in front of Grant Park, it was a great, traditional church that had stood against the ages and ravages of time, and of modern architecture. Now, the face of the church had been scarred by fire, the visage chipped away by gunfire. There was blood smeared on the building face. Rough marble soaked up blood like a sponge, and never let it go. The stains were there to stay.
After his time in Paris, seeing the faith limited to a tourist attraction, that was one thing. He didn't mind a legitimate authority downgrading Catholicism: it started by being nailed to a cross and fed to the lions, became a disorganized global organization opposed by rulers and tyrants from then on. It had been deemed dead once every few centuries since the beginning. Being a tourist attraction was one of the lesser evils that had been hoisted upon it.
This was something that Would Not Be Tolerated.
Kevin stepped up to the front door and pushed it open, reverently, with awe and respect...
And then things started getting blurry.
*
Lotus cocked her head at what information she could get. What had Kevin been doing in the church? Was he a Bethlehem Catholic? Had no one told him about the Priest Wars?
The three-month riot had killed every practicing priest and marked the very beginning of the true savageness of the city. Priests had been burned alive, raped, tortured, lined up against a wall and shot, and those were the lucky ones. Most of the priests killed had been murdered in their own places of worship.
It had also been the last great stand of the SFPD. The police department had lost men and money for years. Half of their members had joined corporate security forces when the corporations took over city management. After the Last Day, many of them gave up when their station houses had been ransacked in the riots, spreading police-level weaponry all over the city. Those few who had been loyal to the end had tried to protect the churches of San Francisco during the months to come. But they had been overpowered by the savages, and a good number had been killed by some of the very priests they had been trying to defend.
*
Brain matter was one thing that Kevin could spot on the church. And it was possibly his imagination, but he could have sworn he could still smell the burning flesh, the decayed bodies, hear the savage beatings, and the screams of the dying. There was blood on the crucifix, still propped up on the altar, a monument to the sufferings of all those who died within the church. In the corner of the altar, at last one statue had been torn apart and crushed.
And then the laughter reached his ears. Up in front, a gang circled the main altar, all of them laughing. They were obviously high. Kevin didn't care what the fun was about. Didn't want to know if they had been squatters, had turned the house of God into a house of the damned, or if they had simply found this to be a tourist attraction like Auschwitz.
Kevin didn't even know he had been in motion until he was already ha
lfway up the center aisle. His legs had moved without any conscious thought. He was vaguely aware of the wind he generated as he ran—no, flew, almost certainly flying—along.
The first guy didn't even know he had been in danger until Kevin leapt up to the altar and rammed right into his back. The youth was driven straight into the altar, and bones broke as the solid marble altar hit him like a hammer. Kevin grabbed him by the collar and the belt, and twisted, hurling him off the altar and into the nearest pew. He spun back, crushing someone's face with a right hammer-fist, and twisted, throwing his whole body into a left side elbow to take out someone else. His right arm whipped up in a clothesline that crushed the larynx of a fourth.
Kevin leapt over the altar, and tackled the last two, giving one a backhand as he slammed the other against the marble floor.
Kevin's eyes locked onto the woman on the altar, semiconscious and mostly nude, except for the tattered remnants of her clothes. This is what they had been laughing at.
Rape on the altar.
He hauled the young thug up by the front of his jacket, and then grabbed him by the throat. Kevin pulled him along in a one-handed grip, not even looking at the man until he slammed him up against the wall.
“Hi,” Kevin said in the most controlled, calm, and reasonable voice he had ever used. The Exile was relatively certain he wasn't speaking, as though someone else had taken over his body—someone with a lot more control than he had. His eyes had caught the candlelight of the church, and they glowed with an angry red fire. “My name is Kevin Anderson, and you, my young friend, are having a very, very bad day. Am I understood?”
The creature he held by the throat nodded slowly.
“That's nice. I am going to give you an errand. First, you're going to tell me all about yourself. Second, you'll take your buddies and leave.”
The punk squeaked. Kevin finally noticed that he had yellow eyes. The whites were completely jaundiced and bloodshot. This was a Wicked-60 user, a 'Sixty. “That's it?”
“Oh, you better hope that's it. Because if I ever see you again, you're going to die. And if I ever find you in here again, I am going to cut you. Eventually, I'll stop cutting, and then, if you're lucky, I will let you die. If not, I'll give you over to the Children of Thanatos, and I'll tell them that you insulted them, their deity, and then I'm going to get nasty. Am I understood?”
The “Sixty” nodded slowly. “But the One won't like that.”
Finally, a small smile appeared on Kevin's face, as though someone had slapped on a smiley sticker. He lifted the addict up the wall. “Tell whoever you hang out with that I own this church now.”
A footstep behind him alerted Kevin. He spun, hurling the addict at the first thug he’d put down, knocking both to the floor. Kevin bent down, grabbed an arm from the destroyed statue of Christ, and held it like a baton. “Any other takers?”
*
Lotus didn't know what else to do but look up the name Kevin Anderson. He was trained, obviously with practical experience in combat, armed and unarmed. From all accounts, and from the video she had stolen from the Mercenaries of his first performance, he was definitely American. At the very least, active military. And if he was Exiled, that meant his paperwork, files, everything, would be scrubbed out of the system. That would take more time.
It took Lotus thirty seconds instead of her usual fifteen. She read over the file of one Lt. Kevin Anderson in a few minutes. She smiled slightly. This was going to be interesting.
She broke into the Mercenary Guild’s records...and blinked. She had not known just how interesting.
Lotus loved her siblings, she really did. Since their parents had been murdered when civilization had fallen apart, they were all she had. The truth was, her siblings were both lazy, and had all the intellectual curiosity of a dead cat. If they weren't paid for information, they didn't look for it. Mickie had her drugs and potions and tending the bar, and Mac had his socializing and his money and his people skills. All Lotus had was an IQ in the stratosphere, the hacking abilities to find anything electronic…and she had time. And, if Mickie and Mac wanted information on Kevin Anderson, well, they would just have to get off their asses and ask for it.
*
May 21st, 2093
The large Mercenary growled as he settled into his chair. He didn't like being on the East coast—he couldn't kill someone because he felt like it. Damnit. But no, he had to leave San Francisco because someone had kicked his ass up one side and down the other. Someone had beaten him up in front of his people, and someone had taken all of their weapons and run them out of Chinatown, and now he was a damn embarrassment to the entire profession and—
“All because of Kevin freaking Anderson!” he roared.
The bullpen at the Mercenary HQ in Washington DC stopped as everyone turned to look at him and his sudden outburst. He growled and turned back to his paperwork. Paperwork. Who the hell does paperwork anymore, aside from pansy secretaries?
“What did you say?” came a light soprano voice.
The great bear had turned to look at the slight, pale brunette next to him. “What's it to you? What are you, some cunt paper clerk?”
She gave him a little smile. “You mentioned a man named Anderson?”
“Oh, like you haven't heard? Like everyone hasn't heard?”
She shook her head. “The world doesn't revolve around you just because your ego is big enough to have its own gravitational pull. We just assumed you wanted out of your main AO for a while. Now, what was your problem?”
“Listen, bitch, I told you—” he shoved her.
The brunette caught his hand. She pressed it against her chest as she jumped up. Both legs wrapped around his arm, and her weight dragged him forward. She twisted, putting the arm into a spiral fracture on her way down, and got out of his way so she wouldn't be pinned by his body. She then arched her back and her legs, jerking his shoulder right out of its socket. She unwrapped her legs, and moved forward, putting his broken arm in a hammerlock high up against his back.
She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “We try again. This time, call me 'bitch ma'am
.' Or, follow the chain of command; call me Lt. Rohaz. As in Amanda Esmerelda Rohaz, daughter of CEO Major Antonio Rohaz. But my friends call me Mandy.”
Chapter 20: Something Deadly This Way Comes.
May 22nd, 2093
Robert “Mac” Hollyfeld had been having a long day. Some really weird stuff had been going on, and based on the stories from some of the security guards and corporate employees that had been coming through the Ground Zero that night, Chinatown had been turned into a war zone. Someone was killing people with a long-range rifle, and initially he had thought it was Kyle Elsen, Assassin. Later conversations proved otherwise. If what Mac had heard was accurate, then Kyle had been in the 'Zero during three of the kills...which meant now Mac had to tell Kyle.
He swallowed as he looked at his sister, Mickie. She was the tiny, frazzled, fluorescent-orange-haired woman who stood behind the counter mixing drinks. She pushed a bit of her hair back from her face and glanced at Mac, an amused glint in her pale blue-green eyes. Mac was 5’6”, an inch or two shorter than, well, the problem he was worrying about. His eyes were the same color as Mickie’s, but his hair was more of a reddish-blonde.
A moment later, she grabbed him by the arm. “Alright, Mac. What's up?”
Mac smiled innocently. “Absolutely nothing, Mic. Nothing at all.”
She frowned, and squeezed his arm, digging a nail into his bicep. “Out with it.” She squeezed harder, digging another nail into the muscle, nearly hard enough to draw blood. “No. What is it you don't want to tell Kyle?”
Mac smiled innocently, and made a visible effort to remain calm. “What do you mean?”
Mickie smacked him upside his forehead with her free hand.
He sighed. “You're not going to let this go, are you? All right…” Mac took a long breath. “It looks like there's another Assassin in the city.”
Mickie blinked. Oh damn. “Excuse me?”
“Someone's been killing people in Chinatown, Mic, using a long-range rifle, and Saint Jack's boys and girls are convinced there's another 'Angel-Servant'.” He took a breath. “Whoever he is, he's scaring the piss out of anyone who gets near Chinatown. It took a few of your wonderful concoctions, but I got something out of a guy who was in here before...”
“What did you find out?”
Her brother continued. “Whoever this guy is, when he caught a group of the Children of Thanatos in Chinatown, he scared the piss out of them badly enough that they apparently aren't going on forays into the area anymore…”
Mickie nodded. “Get to the point, Mac.”
“They're guarding Chinatown, Mickie.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “I'm pretty sure this guy must be an Assassin, Mic. He's got the skills, and he's certainly crazy enough—”
She cut him off. “This isn't the time for jokes. You haven't told Kyle about this guy yet?” As he opened his mouth to respond, she cut him off with a raised hand. “Never mind. If you did, then he'd probably have asked us to do a search on the guy…”
Mac smirked. “Yeah…if he doesn't have his head buried in a glass of bourbon already…”
Mickie let go of her brother's arm, and then smacked him again. “Maybe we should tell Kyle what's going on, rather than let him find out about it.”
Mac frowned at her. “He never goes to Chinatown. He doesn't kill there, and it's not like he does much other than drink anymore. Gotta tell you, I don't remember what else he used to do when he wasn't killing someone.”
*
The deadliest creature in San Francisco was also the plainest, and the least memorable. He was the person who was always invisible, no one ever saw him, and he preferred it that way. The occasional person that noticed him saw in his eyes the animal he was, and they knew better than to provoke the predator. He was the last of the Assassins’ Guild: Kyle Elsen. The only thing that was notable about him was his official Guild title: Master Assassin. Like everything else about him, he was modest: he just preferred to be called a professional.
Codename: Winterborn (The Last Survivors Book 1) Page 21